


from a distance

by humanveil



Series: and whoever calls the night a blanket, has never felt the cold [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: In which Severus can’t visit the hospital, but he can visit the park.Or: Severus’ grandmother has the bookshelf of his dreams, and Lily Evans is the most interesting person he’s ever met.





	from a distance

“He has to stay with you.”

Tobias’ words are quick, harsh. His brow is creased and his lips are pursed, his arms folded across his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter. His sleeves are rolled up, the ends of the white fabric stained yellow. Severus watches but does not speak.

“Your father—”

“There’s no bloody time to argue. I’ve got to go to work.”

“Toby—”

“Only until Eileen gets back,” Tobias says. He pushes himself off the counter and steps towards the door. Severus knows better than to try and follow.

His grandmother sighs quietly, her eyes settling on Severus’ small form with a sad smile before returning to her son. “And when will that be?”

“Soon,” Tobias answers, but it sounds like a lie.

His grandmother sighs again, her hand reaching to tuck a short strand of grey hair behind her ear. “Best give me his bag, then.”

Tobias picks up the small carry bag he’d left at the door and hands it to her, offering a quick goodbye. He turns back to Severus on the front step, voice serious when he says, “Don’t forget what we talked about.”

Severus doesn’t respond, just watches him go from his grandmother’s side. It’s a stupid thing to say, he thinks. He isn’t likely to forget his father’s warnings, not when he hears them six times a day. Not when his forearm is still marred with half crescent dents, the marks a result of his father’s grip; too tight as he’d warned Severus, not for the first time, to  _keep that bloody pagan shite to a minimum._

“Come on.” His grandmother pats him lightly on the back. “Let’s get you settled in.”

*

Staying with his Nan isn’t so bad, Severus thinks. She may be a muggle, but she’s one of the nicer ones he’s encountered. One of the few who have gained his respect.

The house doesn’t have a proper guest room, but there is a spare room; its surfaces covered with books, the walls lined by bookshelves save the one with a window. There’s a stray armchair that sits beneath it, the material faded from sunlight, the cushion in the left armrest falling out near the back. It’s more of a library, really, but there’s room enough for a cot, and Severus is small enough to fit.

He helps his grandmother set up the cot and listens as she reminds him of the rules. They’re only basic boundaries: be home by dark, wash up before dinner, don’t mess around in the attic. Severus nods along, making a mental list of things to remember.

“Try to keep out of Cyril’s way,” she says. “You know how he can get.”

Severus nods again. He’s never liked his grandfather much, anyway. If it were up to him, he’d spend his entire time here cooped up in the spare room, one of his grandmother’s many books open in his lap and the window cracked for the breeze to come through.

“And you can read whatever you’d like,” his grandmother adds, a knowing look on her face when she glances at Severus. “Just keep it tidy.”

Severus nods and promises he will, and with one last pat down of the cot, his grandmother leaves him be.

*

His grandparents’ kitchen is a tiny thing, the bare minimum fitting within its walls. There’s a window that overlooks the front yard, the frame lined with frilly curtains and covered with white mesh, a floral pattern sewn throughout. The kitchen at home is bigger, but Severus prefers this one. Here, the cupboards are lined with food instead of dust, the fridge filled with juices instead of alcohol.

There’s a tiny, circular dining table that takes up half its floor space, and Severus sits in the one spare chair, his feet kicking where they can’t reach the ground. It’s his first morning spent at his grandparents’, and the first meal he’s spent with both of them. His grandmother is by the sink, the light whoosh of water sounding as she washes the dishes, and his grandfather sits across from him, blue eyes staring from behind the morning paper.

“You ought to be in school.”

Severus expects the comment. Cyril Snape is war veteran with a bad temper and a consistently foul mood. The left side of his face is scarred, the marks a reminder of an incident his grandmother always tells Severus not to ask about,  _lest you set him off, dear_ , and his favourite pastime, as Severus has grown to learn, is complaining about  _kids these days –_ a category he often falls under.

He looks towards his grandfather, his piece of toast held halfway towards his mouth. “I’m taught at home,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

It’s the same argument his parents always have. Tobias yells that he should have never been taken out, that no one will think it normal for him to be home schooled, that he needs to spend more time with ordinary children his own age. And Eileen will tell him that controlled learning isn’t always a good thing, that it isn’t the right decision for Severus, that he needs to be taught what will  _actually_  matter. She always wins, but the argument continues, their bickering revamped every other week. Severus doesn’t understand it, not really. He’s smart, he knows he is. Knows everything his mother teaches him is far more interesting than anything he’d ever learnt while at school.

“Bad socialisation,” Cyril mutters, mug of tea brought to his lips.

“The kids are on holiday,” says his grandmother, intervening before Cyril can go off on a rant. “And the sun’s out. Why don’t you go to the park, Severus? It’s not far.”

It’s more order than suggestion, Severus can tell. He looks down at his mostly empty plate and nods, hopping off his seat to clean up before walking back to the spare room. As the kitchen door shuts, he catches his grandfather angrily mutter,  _“You shouldn’t coddle him, Ainsley.”_

They’re on the cooler side of Spring, so he takes the old coat he’d packed and throws it on around his mismatched clothes, ignoring how ridiculous he knows it must look. He’s old enough now that any embarrassment he feels at the stares quickly morphs to disdain. Old enough now that he knows what people wear means very little, and that those who care about such matters aren’t worth his time.

Taking hold of the book he’d been reading, Severus slips the cover under his arm and turns to leave. His grandmother meets him at the front door, her tired face pulled in a smile as she warns him to be careful and tells him to have fun, and with a final pat to his cheek, Severus is gone.

His grandparents live on the other side of the lake, their house placed in the middle of what his mother calls the good side of Cokeworth. The houses here are nicer, Severus notes, with none of the broken fences or building ruins found in Spinner’s End. There is no rubbish littering the alleyways like there are at home, no yelling children or stink from the Mill. It’s nicer, definitely, but Severus isn’t sure how much he likes it. Isn’t sure how much he fits in.

His grandmother had taken him to the park as a small child, and so he follows the route from memory, ignoring the people he pasts until he reaches his desired spot. It isn’t a park as much as it’s a field, the skyline dominated by the mill chimney. There’s a small set of swings in the middle, little children running around them, some overlooked by parents but most out on their own. Severus walks right past it in favour of the bush, of the trees that line the field.

He settles on the edge of the park, his back nestled against a thick tree trunk. Ignoring the shouts of the other children, he pulls his Nan’s book out from under his coat.

At home, he spends most of his time trying to convince his mother to let him read her books, the ones she keeps hidden in the attic, the ones with pages and pages on spells, on curses, on poisons. The ones she tells him he’s too young to understand. But his grandmother’s collection is different. It’s filled with stories, the stacks of fiction broken every now and then by a history book, a cooking book, an autobiography. He reads the history books sometimes, remembers his mother telling him that being educated on muggle matters is still important, but what he prefers is the fiction.

The book he has now is a tattered, dark blue paperback, the title  _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_  written out in black. He opens up to where he’d left of, the yellow-stained pages crinkling beneath his hand, and loses himself in the narrative. There are times where he has to stop, his hands itching for a dictionary to understand everything  _now_ , but he settles for making a mental list of things to look up later and continues on.

By the time something else catches his attention, the book’s focus has turned from Irene Adler to the problems of Lord Robert St. Simon, and the bottoms of his thighs ache from sitting for so long. It’s nearing lunch time, but hunger is a familiar enough sensation that the ache in his stomach is easy to ignore.

His attention is caught by the shriek of a girl, the shrill sound accompanied by light-hearted laughter and a mother’s scolding voice. Severus looks up and sees a redheaded girl, her freckled face pulled in a grin even as her mother tells her to  _stop that, for the last time, Lily, she doesn’t like it._

Severus tries to figure out what she’d been doing, but there’s nothing incriminating that he can see. He continues to listen as the girl is forced to apologise, and watches as the mother eventually leaves both sisters on their own. Her figure has barely disappeared before Lily is bending back down, her small hand pulling blades of grass from the ground. With a small smirk, she reaches her hand back out to her sister with an order to watch.

The second girl’s shrieking fades to white noise when Severus sees the grass twitch, the ends linking together and creating something akin to a butterfly. Lily laughs as it flutters in her hand, and Severus stares on, an exhilarating, inexplicable sensation filling his chest. He knows magic when he sees it, has seen his mother play with herbs and floras the same way, and this girl…

Severus’ body thrums with the desire to approach her, to tell her what she is, to show her what  _he_  can do, but his mother’s voice is in his head telling him not to, telling him to wait longer, that he should make sure he’s right before doing anything rash.

He knows the voice is right, so he stifles his excitement, his curiosity, and refrains from talking to her. He stays seated where he is, protected by the sea of bush, and watches for any more signs of magic.

By the time he returns home, the sun has started to set, his Nan has started on dinner, and Severus wants nothing more than to talk to his mother.

*

Visiting the park turns into a regular occurrence.  

He surprises himself by doing so. Normally, he dislikes the park, the people. He’s been in too many fights with the other children to ever want to return willingly, the other’s contempt for him, for the people who live on the other side of the lake—it’s both frustrating and aggravating. But the park is the only place he can keep tabs on Lily, and so he continues to come, his father’s old coat wrapped around his slim frame and another one of his grandmother’s books held under his arm.

His time there passes in a blur of reading and watching, of waiting and theorising. Lily doesn’t always show, but when she does, it’s almost always with her sister.

Petunia, Severus has decided, is little more than a sulky muggle. He has no interest in her, and is often annoyed by her presence. She reminds Severus of the people his mother had told him about, the people who don’t understand that magic is a gift. The people like his father.

Lily, on the other hand, seems delighted by her talents. She has every reason to be, Severus thinks. The things he’s seen her do are both clever and fascinating, and the more Severus watches her, the more he wants to talk to someone about it.

He’s asked to visit his mother, of course, but his Nan’s response is the same each time. “It’s somewhere you’re unable to go,” she’ll say, and Severus will retreat to the spare room or run off to the park, the words of another story or the sight of Lily a decent enough distraction.

Almost a month passes before he finally breaks, and despite how many times he’d imagined it in his head, the incident goes nothing at all like he’d planned.

He’d watched Lily soar through the sky, had watched as she hit the ground perfectly, and he hadn’t been able to help himself. The prospect of having another person to share the wizarding world with had been too great to ignore, and so he’d introduced himself.

Truthfully, Severus is more upset that Lily hadn’t seemed to believe him than he is about anything else. He’d hoped for friendship, yes, but the untrusting look in her eye had hit hard.

Now, he walks back toward his grandparents’ home, the old coat still covering his body despite the warm weather. He kicks a stone against the pavement, disappointment heavy in the pit of his stomach. It’s frustrating more than anything, because he knows he’s right. Knows that she’d find interest in what he has to stay.

He passes through the front gate, trudging up the few steps in a slow stride. The door squeaks when he pushes it open, the wood banging against the frame louder than he’d meant it to. He moves to dart to the spare room, not in the mood for another one of his grandfather’s rants, but stops dead when he hears a familiar voice from the sitting room.

He all but runs to the sound, his disappointment momentarily forgotten in favour of his anticipation. Inside sits his mother, just as he’d predicted, and Severus smiles with relief at the sight. Eileen looks ill, still, her skin sallow and sickly, but she’s alive and she’s there, and Severus is glad to see her.

“There you are,” Eileen murmurs once she spots him, her thin lips curling to a brief smile.

She places her teacup on the low table, the delicate china clanking against the wooden top, and reaches a hand out to beckon him forward. Severus walks to her, face scrunching up when her palm touches his cheek, her long fingers brushing the hair from his eyes.

“I suppose you’ll want to get going,” says his Nan, watching on with a polite smile.

Eileen nods, and Severus almost feels bad for only returning now. He knows his mother doesn’t enjoy alone time with his father’s family.

“Help me pack?” he offers, and Eileen stands to do just that, following him through the small home and into the spare room.

Severus turns to her the second the door is shut behind them, and Eileen looks down, confused at his enthusiastic state, but when the words  _I found another one_ tumble from his mouth, Eileen understands.

“Another wizard?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

“A witch,” says Severus. “At the park.”

“You’re sure?”

Severus nods as Eileen ushers him further into the room. She crouches down next to the cot, gathering the items she recognises as Severus’ and placing them into his bag. Severus jumps into an explanation of some of the magic he’d seen Lily do, and Eileen’s gaze flicks to doorway, paranoid that someone may be listening. 

She cuts him off mid-sentence, places a hand on his arm gently. “Not here,” she says quietly, and Severus nods, his excitement dissipating. He helps Eileen pack the rest of his belongings, helps her put away the cot. When they’re done, he follows her out of the room and toward the front of the house. 

“Ainsley,” Eileen calls, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Severus stands next to her, his bag looking unusually large against his small frame. “Thank you for watching him.”

“Not to worry,” says his Nan, a smile on her face as she comes to bid them farewell. Ainsley pats Severus’ cheek, the way she always does, and Severus’ mouth flattens to a thin line. “He was no trouble at all.”

They move through the short hallway and out to the front step. Eileen indulges Ainsley’s chitchat for a moment more, but then they’re gone, the two of them walking down the road, towards home.

“Tell me about her,” Eileen says once they’re a good way away from the house. The sun is out still, the light blindingly bright on the horizon. Eileen reaches for his hand, and although Severus wishes she wouldn’t, he still lets her hold it. Lets her lead the way.

“Her name’s Lily,” Severus tells her, unsure of where else to start. “She has a sister.”

“Muggleborn?”

Severus hums, telling Eileen everything as they continue on their walk back to Spinner’s End. He speaks rapidly, the words jumbled together with excitement, with the thrill of  _finally_  being able to tell someone everything he’s kept bottled up for the past month. Eileen listens carefully, commenting when appropriate, but mostly she just lets him ramble.

“You shouldn’t worry,” she says when Severus tells her about the incident from earlier that day. “It’s nothing to be upset about.”

Severus hums quietly. “Will she go to Hogwarts, too?” he asks, looking up at Eileen’s face.

“If what you say is true,” she answers, “and if her parents allow her.”

“Why wouldn’t they allow her?”

They’re in their street, now, the dreary and banal atmosphere of Spinner’s End depressingly familiar. Severus counts the terrace homes as they pass them, the vandalised brick and broken concrete a far poorer site than his grandparents’ neighbourhood.

“The same reason your father doesn’t want you to go,” Eileen says as they stop in front of their house. She pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks the door, pushing it open for Severus to pass through. “Not all muggles are thrilled to discover their child is magical.”

“That’s dumb,” Severus says simply, and Eileen snorts quietly.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Now go put your things away.”

Severus does as he’s told. The house looks the same as when he’d left it, if a bit messier. The faint smell of stale whiskey taints the air, like his father had spilt it on something and hadn’t bothered to clean it up, and Severus scrunches his face as he passes through the main room.

He misses his Nan’s library instantly as he steps upstairs. His room holds little more than a broken, second-hand drawer and the dirty mattress that rests against the ground, it’s springy surface covered by a dark grey sheet and the thin blanket that rests bunched against the wall. Severus puts his things away quickly, discarding his bag on the ground before making his way back downstairs.  

He finds Eileen at the kitchen sink, a series of green herbs rinsing under the water. Severus climbs up onto the counter, and when he speaks this time, it’s with questions on his mother’s illness. 

“What was it?” he asks, watching her work. Her arms are too thin, he notes, both the veins and bones more prominent than they should be on a woman her age.

“An old curse,” Eileen admits, looking across her shoulder at him.

Severus’ small brow furrows with confusion. “By who?”

Eileen’s expression is hesitant, like she isn’t quite sure if she should tell him the truth or not. She gives in with a sigh eventually, says, “Your grandfather.”

Severus only looks more confused. “Why?”

Eileen shakes her head as she returns to her herbs. “Always a million questions with you,” she says, though it’s fond rather than annoyed.

Thinking it better to give the topic her full attention, she turns the water off and reaches for the nearest cloth, wiping her hands as she turns to face Severus.

“Do you remember when I explained blood status?” she asks him. “How some people value it more than others?”

“Yes.”

It had been the same night Tobias had hit him for the first time, the same night he’d asked what the word mudblood meant. Eileen had explained it while she’d tended to his wounds, had told him all about muggle borns and half-bloods and purebloods, and Severus had listened with interest. He’d asked, back then, if people would care that he was only a half-blood, and Eileen, not one for lying to children, had given the most age appropriate answer she could think of.

“Atticus is one of them,” Eileen tells him. “He didn’t like that I married your father.”

 _No one does_ , Severus thinks, but smartly holds his tongue. “So he cursed you?”

“Yes.”

Severus tilts his head to the side, his hair falling across his shoulder. “With what?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s it do?”

“Affects my magic,” Eileen says. “Which makes me ill.”

Severus gnaws at his bottom lip, his fingers linking together in his lap. “Will it kill you?” he asks eventually, voice quiet. He doesn’t look at Eileen while he waits for an answer.

“The Healers don’t think so.”

“Good,” Severus breathes. He isn’t quite sure what he would do without her, isn’t sure if he could manage just yet.

Eileen smiles at him faintly, the look one of reassurance. “Now get down,” she says. “Your father will be home soon. I need help with dinner.”

* 

Things return to normal in no time at all.

The quiet serenity of his grandparents’ home is replaced by the usual yelling, the floral scent of his Nan’s candles replaced by cigarette smoke, by the pollution from the Mill. Severus starts sporting bruises again, despite his mother’s best efforts, and any weight he’d gained while at his grandparents’ fades as if it had never been there at all.

The only good thing about being home, Severus thinks, is that his mother starts his lessons again. The hours Tobias spends away from home are filled with lessons on potions, on spells, on  _magic_. Eileen helps him plant ingredients in their small garden, the little span of earth filled with spurts of colour, of things they can both eat and use to brew. He helps his mother make things they can sell – lotions, scrubs, minor healing potions – and goes with her when she sells them. They sit near the market, Eileen draped in a black shawl as she sells what she can. Severus will often run off, will pickpocket the wealthy looking people who pass by. Eileen will scold him sometimes, but more often than not they’re too desperate for her to bother.

Most of the money they do make is spent on food, on bills, but Severus notices the small stash Eileen hides away. When he asks what it’s for, she doesn’t tell him.

When he’s lucky, or when Tobias has been particularly harsh, Eileen will give him her wand, will let him practice some of the spells he’s learnt. Sometimes, she’ll even let him pick what to practice. Severus always chooses the book of curses, and although Eileen doesn’t always approve, she lets him test them on the rats that run around the attic, lets him hide the book of forbidden spells in his draw, ready to be read under the light of his lamp once the rest of the house has gone quiet.

Eileen supposes Severus’ fascination with dark magic should worry her, thinks the way he masters curses quicker than anything else would worry other parents, but, if anything, it’s a comfort to know he’ll be able to hold his own. She is no optimist. She knows what her son is in for, and she wants him to be prepared.

And as the cause of his existence, Eileen considers it her responsibility to ensure that he is.

*

Once resettled, Severus doesn’t visit the park nearly as much as he’d used to. The walk is much longer from Spinner’s End, and the capricious payoff not worth it. These days, he mostly spends his time away from home chasing the cats that live near the lake.

He does miss Lily, though. It’s an odd thing, he thinks, to miss someone he never really knew, and yet, here he is.

He regrets the day they’d spoken, regrets how he’d introduced himself. There are some nights where he lies awake, staring at his ceiling in the dark, the muffled sound of his parents arguing fading to the background as he wonders of what could have been. Of what could’ve happened if he’d acted differently.

Luckily for him, he gets the opportunity for a do-over.

There’s a spot between the river and the park, a small opening amongst a thicket of trees. It’s an extension of a hidden pathway, the area circled by vibrant shades of green, the bushes littered with the bright pinks and yellows of flowers.

Severus considers it  _his_  spot, his secret little area. He’s been visiting it for years, and he’s never met anyone there. The opening is close enough to the river that most are put off by the Mill, but Severus finds it inviting with its promise of solitary, its promise of tranquillity.

It’s here where Severus gets his second chance.

He sits amongst the long blades of grass, the thick, battered hardback of  _Hogwarts: A History_  open in his lap. He’s reading the chapter on Slytherin for what has to be the fourth time when he hears it.

It’s a faint rustling sound, like someone treading through a sea of shrubs. He looks up abruptly, the book closing in his lap, and searches for the source of the noise. He spots Lily’s familiar frame just as it stumbles into the opening, her chest heaving a little as she breathes loudly.  

“ _How in the world…”_ Her voice trails to a quiet murmur as she catches her breath, and Severus watches, her name falling from his lips in a confused drawl.  

She looks up at the sound, her hand impatiently brushing the loose strands of red hair away from her face. “Hello,” she exclaims, stepping toward him. He watches, confused, as she plops down in front of from him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to ask you a question,” she says. Her eyes are wide, now, the bright green glittering in the sunlight. She’s acting with a confidence Severus has never seen before, but he quite likes the new side of her.

“What question?”

“Am I really a witch?”

Severus’ smiles, the first hint of excitement bubbling in his veins. “Yes,” he says, because he’s sure of it. There isn’t anything else Lily can be.

“And are you really a wizard?”

Rather than answer this time, Severus plucks a few blades of grass from the ground, just as Lily had the first time he’d seen her. He holds them in his palm, the deep green stark against his pale skin, and makes them flutter the same way Lily had. Lily watches, her expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. 

“ _How_?” she asks, disbelief written all over her face. 

“Because we want it to,” Severus tells her, matter of fact. It’s the same thing Eileen had told him when he’d asked how, and it’s the only answer Severus knows.

Lily’s eyebrows knit together as she considers it, but then her mouth starts to stretch to a grin, a big, bright smile growing across her face. Severus lets the grass drop to the ground, chooses instead to watch her, to watch the way she bounces with excitement.

“Will you tell me everything?” she asks, hopeful, and Severus grins back. It’s the moment he’s been waiting for, the response he’d wanted when they’d first met.

He starts to tell her everything he knows. He tells her tales of Hogwarts, of houses and classes, of potions and spells, of magical laws and punishment. He talks well into the afternoon, and Lily listens, her eyes shining as she takes in as much information as she can, a million and one questions on the tip of her tongue. Severus is happy to answer all of them, and the ones he’s unsure about are left for later, for when he has the chance to ask his mother.

Lily has to leave eventually, but she promises to be back tomorrow, and so Severus says he will be, too. Says to meet him here amongst the trees, rather than the park, so they can talk without trouble. Says to come alone, because the others won’t get it.

Lily agrees with a smile, and Severus waves as she disappears into the distance.

When he returns home that evening, not even his father’s screaming voice can dampen his good mood. He blocks out the shouts, the yells, the constant fighting. All he can think about is how he’d made a friend. His very first one. 

As he gets into bed that night, he thinks of the promise of tomorrow. Thinks of what the days ahead will hold, thinks of how wonderful it will be when he and Lily are both students at Hogwarts. It’s the best thing in a sea of bad, and so Severus fixates on it, uses the promise of a happy future to forget the horrible  _now_.

It may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but, well. It lets him fall asleep with a smile, so Severus doesn’t care.


End file.
